


Recovery

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean tend to each other the morning after a hunt. They are both pretty banged up, but used to it. A scene that is probably very familiar to them, but something we don't get to see very often in the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

Mornings were never a particularly good time for the hunter. The nature of their work was geared toward night time--having to break into places like the morgue, or crime scenes, digging up graves, and the fact that most monsters usually wreak their havoc at night. This generally leads to late mornings for Dean and this one was no different.

As always, his first thought is his brother. Once he hears the bathroom water running in the cramped motel room he relaxes a fraction, and allows himself have more concrete, awake thoughts. He opens his eyes and stares at the water stains on the ceiling for a brief second before the pain starts. This morning was a particular throbbing, red pain that radiated behind his left shoulder down to his hip bone. He felt a flicker of anger, and then self-pity when he tried to recall the last morning he woke up pain free.

For years, each and every morning has been plagued by serious injuries at worst, and sore tired muscles at best. Even before he started hunting with his father, there were the neck cricks from sleeping in the Impala, back aches from springy motel mattresses.

The second pain he felt was in his right hand, two broken fingers if he could recall, splinted hastily together last night so he could focus on stitching up Sam. All in all, he had fared better than his brother against the poltergeist, requiring only a few stitches for a head wound and a cold compress for the immense bruise on his back--the result of being thrown like doll through a door. He was not anxious to see what that looked like in the morning light. Sam had been thrown into a cabinet when they started exploring the old house, a jagged edge of wood piercing his side. It took Dean over an hour to get the splinters out and give him 9 stitches. Suffice it to say, they would both be moving rather slowly for the next few days. Dean sat up carefully, wincing as he untied the ice pack from the back of his shoulder; it had long since become water and wasn’t doing anymore good for the contusion.

He quickly scanned the room for any leftover alcohol to help dull the pain, but only found the last few sips of a warm stale beer on the night stand. He knew he had a stash of whisky in his bag, and another in the first-aid kit, but the small motel room might have become Mt. Everest for how much he felt like moving around.

Sam came out of the bathroom with a puff of steam, towel wrapped around his waist and holding onto his side as he walked, grimacing the whole 10 steps it took him to get to his bed. Dean surveyed the sutures he put in last night and felt a slap of empathy when he saw how bruised Sam’s torso had become in the night. The younger Winchester also sported twin scrapes on both forearms, and hundreds of small cuts on his back. Seeing his brother in pain was all it took for Dean to come out of wallowing. He stood up quicker than he thought possible and helped guide Sam to a sitting position on the bed, pressing Sam’s forearm tight onto his body.

His little brother looked up at him with grateful eyes, but said nothing as Dean rummaged through his bag to find some clean clothes. He helped Sam dress, murmuring quiet directions to make the process as simple and painless as possible. This wasn’t the first (or probably the last) time he had to help his brother dress, and they were both used to the motions, as unembarrassed of each other’s bodies as their own. Sam whimpered slightly through it but didn’t complain, and once he was dressed, leaned his back against the wall to relax. Dean handed him his laptop, grabbing the bottle of whisky from his bag next to it, and made his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up himself.

When he did his morning body-check in the dirty bathroom mirror, he didn’t look much better than Sam. The bruise had taken over half his back and side, multi colored and swollen. He had a slight appreciation for the quality the door must have been as he probed the area for broken bones. He clenched his teeth as he ran his fingers along his scapula and the back of his ribs, but luckily everything seemed in place. If there was a fracture it would heal on its own, the bruise was worse than it looked, Dean thought with a grimace. Sam always had neater stitches than his brother and Dean was grateful that the gash on his forehead probably wouldn’t leave a scar thanks to Sam’s skilled hands. He fumbled with the shower knobs for a minute before realizing he probably wasn’t going to get hot water out of them. It wasn’t freezing though so he stepped in the shower and let the tepid water run over him. He was so tired, just wanted to sit down right there in the shower and go back to sleep. But sleep never came easy for the older Winchester and he knew the 3 hours he had gotten would be enough to keep him going all day. Knowing both of them needed a few days to rest up, he decided on heading to Bobby’s for the weekend. They were only about 400 miles away and could make it there easily before dark.


End file.
